Right-Hand Woman
by OogieBoogie
Summary: Hermione has got a very, very strange condition. Call it a syndrome, if you may. It makes everything complicated more often than not. And then she sees Draco Malfoy after almost ten years. Of course things get even more complicated.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **No profit has been made from the writing of this faaaaaaaasdadoadjsadalk;l''plk;; - WHOA! I almost fell asleep there! Characters and world belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Rating: **M, of course M!

Hello ragamuffins! This is a little something that came out of nowhere while I stared at my lecturer's face and pretended to pay attention. I plan to make this sort of like a pre-birthday present to myself.

**x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x. x.x.x.x.x**

**Noun 1. Right-hand person – **the most helpful assistant, chief assistant, assistant, helper, help, supporter – a person who contributes to the fulfilment of a need or furtherance of an effort or purpose.

**x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x. x.x.x.x.x**

Gritting her teeth and clenching her jaw for the fourth time that night, Hermione shut her eyes and prayed for patience.

She glared accusingly at her right arm as if it was a disruptive child who was really, _really _testing her patience.

"Is there a problem?" a bloke to her left said – _what was his name? – _Oh right, Mikhail. He had chatted with her a little bit before offering to get her a drink and Hermione had shrugged, her right arm waving around in the air with a flourish as she said, "Yes, why the hell not?"

Why the hell not indeed, since she was stuck alone at the bar while almost-drunk Harry and drunk Ron and the other guys played a drunken game of pool – both missing the white ball with their cue sticks, dragging it across the green of the table and chuckling more than anything.

Hermione glanced back at them to find Harry was very nearly laying fully on top of the table as he squinted (even with his glasses) to aim at the white ball better and Ron was swaying a little as he gurgled some encouragement to Harry.

And then she looked back at the man on the left – he was not bad, very rugged, masculine looks with a shirt that was a little too tight and jeans that were showing off some parts of his Queen of Hearts patterned boxers (Hermione didn't get it, was it the in thing for men lately?) and he was smiling very charmingly at Hermione, showing off one dimple.

"No, there isn't a problem," she offered, smiling back, "Why do you ask?"  
"It's just that," he looked pointedly at her drink, "You haven't taken a sip since I brought you your drink. Did I get you the wrong one?"  
"No, I'm just feeling a little tipsy," she lied, "I need to cool off a bit before taking this."  
"Alright, I'll just go get myself another drink," he grinned toothily, "I'll be back, two seconds."

As soon as he buzzed off to where to bartender was standing, Hermione returned to her glaring. Her right arm lay motionless, innocent and pliant.

But as soon as she brought her glass of martini to her mouth, her right hand immediately shot out and covered the whole rim with it – almost protectively.

"Stop it," she hissed at it.

She tried again, but her right hand seemed to be adamant on not letting her drink her martini. Whether it was out of spite or just for fun, she didn't know. All she knew that this was bloody annoying.

Truth was – she had the alien hand syndrome. Her right hand seemed to have a mind of its own. She wasn't born with it, she just woke up on the 27th birthday feeling like her right hand was possessed by an evil twin.

Of course, she told no one of this. She had it under control, she did. There were days when it was docile and obedient, responding to her brain's instructions instead of instructions from Merlin-knows-what-where-and-who. Other days, it was really enthusiastic – like a child on sugar rush. It bugged her to no end, especially when she wanted to take a nap – it kept moving around and making finger-men and walking around the sheets.

She went to a Healer, and when they found nothing wrong with her, she went to a Muggle psychiatrist and they still found nothing wrong with her.

It was crazy and for the brightest witch of her age, she decided to leave it while she did more research on her own.

She found that this condition made it difficult for her to tell a lie, since whenever she thought of sprouting a fib, her right hand would scratch her nose, touch her mouth or pull on the corner of her eyes a little bit or do some unnecessary action associated with the universal symptoms of lie-telling.

There were times though where it had its benefits, like saving her life. There was an instance when she forgot that the kettle had just been boiled and she made to touch it, but not before her right hand pulled back almost violently, refusing to come close to the kettle. Other times, her right arm would automatically flip one of her papers over her head before a bird released its faeces on top of it.

And during one night, she had decided to try one of her friend Christie's cigarettes with her left hand – and before she managed to take a puff her right hand shot out and snatched it away. She battled with her right hand much to the watching crowd's bemusement, but eventually she gave the cigarette back to Christie and sighed in defeat.

This time though, back at the bar, she didn't know why her right hand didn't want her to drink this martini what's-his-face got for her.

She let out a heavy sigh before giving in to her right hand, which immediately grabbed the bottom of the tall glass and dragged it far, far away from her.

"Oh, I _really_ need a drink!" Ginny said a little breathlessly, face shiny with sweat and looking as red as her hair, "Been dancing the entire time!"  
"There you go, have mine," Hermione said. At least the drink won't go to waste.  
"Really? Thank you!" she grabbed it and took a couple of sips, "Mmm. Come dance with me."

"Oh, no, please," she laughed, "I'm a terrible dancer."

Silently, Hermione waited for her right hand to maybe scratch her nose or touch her mouth or … something to obviously refute the fact that she was a terrible dancer.

But nothing came.

So she _was _a terrible dancer, she thought as she glared at her right hand, as if the fact that she was a stiff spirit was its fault.

The night went on, with Ginny going back to the dance floor, Blake – no, Mikhail – _who the fuck is Blake?_ – sending her curious and almost confused glances and Harry and Ron laughing to the point of sobbing on top of the pool table.

After a bit though, something red and wobbly caught her attention. It was Ginny, in the middle of the dance floor, not being able to stand up on her own as she grabbed people around her for support.

"Be right back," she told Blake – Mikhail, damn it, _Mikhail_.

She zoomed towards the dance floor where Ginny was still swaying and still groping random strangers.

"Ginny," Hermione grabbed her shoulders and shook her, "Ginny!"  
"Mm?" she looked up at Hermione, her eyes glazed over, a watery smile on her lips.

"Hey!" she called, trying to get her to snap out of it, and then her right hand smacked her lightly and repeatedly on her cheek. "Ginny!"  
"Mm … take me home," she began and pressed herself against one of the guys watching her.

"Funny, she didn't even drink," Luna said out of nowhere from next to her.

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"She's been drugged," she said as she turned to look at the bar, then her right hand shot up and pointed accusingly at Bl – Mikhail, "By him."

As if sensing he was in trouble, Mikhail bolted and exited the pub.

Luna sighed and shook her head, "Guess I should take her home then. You watch over the boys."  
"Yeah," Hermione nodded and went back to the bar after Luna had disappeared with Ginny.

Between watching Harry and Ron, she studied her right arm and smiled a little.

Saved her again, it did.

**x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x. x.x.x.x.x**

It was Friday night – their customary out-for-drinks night and Hermione was ready to submit herself to a night of watching the boys get drunk, Ginny dance her head off, Luna make weird observations and … and … no! Tonight she was going to have fun!

No more Miss _I watch over everyone and make sure they're alright_! Tonight she was going to have fun! Maybe not dance, but maybe … try her hand at pool. Literally.

She was on her second game (and winning! Much to the dismay of the boys) and was about to dunk the number 8 ball before Ginny came up to their pool table, skirt higher than when she first came in and hair looking like she ruffled them in an attempt to look sexier or something like that.

"Oh my God, guess who's at the bar?" she whispered in an almost conspiring manner.  
"Who?" Harry asked, as Hermione got ready to push her cue stick with all her might.

"Draco Malfoy."

And just like that – just _like that_ – her trusty right hand faltered and completely missed the white ball.

_What the fuck was that?!_

"Aww, shame, 'Mione," Ron laughed, as he sunk in the last ball, winning the game, "But oh yeah? Draco Malfoy?"  
"Yes, the one and only," Ginny nodded, "I haven't seen him in a while except on Quidditch magazines and the sports section of _The Daily Prophet_."

"Oh, yeah, he's Seeker for Puddlemere United isn't he?" Harry said, looking very impressed.  
"And how exactly did ferret end up in a team that bloody good?" Ron said, "I mean, not as good as Chudley Cannons, definitely."

"Skills," Hermione said succinctly, glancing at the bar and sweeping her eyes through the row of seats until it landed on Malfoy's trademark white-blond hair.

He wasn't alone, he was surrounded by other guys who were well-built, just like him, and they were joking and laughing and clapping him on the back.

"I wonder why he's here?" Ron asked. "Been ages since I last saw him but it's almost strange to see him in the same pub after all these years."

"Maybe they're celebrating Puddlemere's recent victory against the Harpies, I dunno," Ginny shrugged and walked away.

Something lurched in her chest as she took in the sight of Malfoy after almost ten years. She had wanted to thank him, after the battle, to thank him for saving them when they were accosted and brought to the Manor. She knew that Malfoy knew Harry was the real Harry, especially the way his gaze went from confusion to recognition at the sight of Hermione. He had saved them, and she had wanted to say that if it weren't for him, they wouldn't have won – in a way. But the words couldn't leave her mouth when she saw him with his mother in front of what Hogwarts used to be, and that was the last time she ever saw him.

Until today.

Debating on whether she should go up to him and say hello, she watched as Draco sidled away from his crowd and went to talk to the bartender.

Sensing her opportunity, Hermione moved and walked resolutely towards where Draco had his back towards her.

_A hello and thank you go a long way, after all._

She was mentally rehearsing her speech to Malfoy at the speed of light the closer he got to him. This was how it was supposed to go:

_Hello Malfoy, long time no see. I heard you've been doing quite well, and I'm glad. And congratulations on winning the game. Anyway, I've wanted to thank you – I know it's been too long but I sincerely believe in better late than never. So yes, thank you, for saving our lives back at the Manor. If it weren't for you, we would have lost. You're a good man, Draco Malfoy. And I hope you have a nice life, you deserve it._

But instead of saying it articulately like she normally did, her right hand shot out, grabbed a handful of Malfoy arse and _squeezed_.

She squawked, and let go, completely forgetting her speech.

Malfoy's form froze for a moment, before sighing.

"For fuck's sake, Stefano," his cool, aristocrat voice came, "If that's you grabbing my arse, I've told you a billion times … you're a nice bloke and all but I'm not gay, so please -"

He turned to face Hermione.

And within a few seconds, Hermione had sized him up. It took her only five seconds flat for her to assess him up and down, left and right.

Merlin but he looked _good_.  
This was not the pointy, too-pale blond git with too much gel in his hair. This was a _man_, an assured air of a man, his hair sticking up everywhere in the most charming of ways, and his face had filled out, grey eyes still intact and still piercing as the first day Hermione noticed them. And he was tall, very tall – six foot something but sturdy and in all black. Kid-Hermione would probably laugh at the fact that ten years later she would actually be finding Malfoy attractive.

"Granger?" His eyes narrowed.

"I wasn't – it isn't – it wasn't me!" She blurted, looking around for someone to put to blame on but no one was around that at that very moment.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Granger. I haven't seen you in what, almost ten years and you decide to greet me by molesting my arse?" He crossed his ankles and his arms, watching her critically.

But it is such a lovely arse.

"I … no … I just … I just …"  
"Did you get Stutter Disease from the Weasel or am I making you nervous?" he smirked, and immediately Hermione was reminded of the Malfoy from ten years ago.  
"No, Malfoy," she growled.  
"So pray tell, Granger, why are you blushing? I know I'm handsome and all but you don't have a chance, sadly. I don't date bushy-haired know-it-alls."

Hermione bristled.

"You're such a prick, Malfoy! All these years I thought you had changed, even in the slightest bit. But it looks like you're the same old git I knew and despised back in Hogwarts. I hate you. No, I retract that. I _loathe _you," Hermione hissed out the 'loathe' in her sentence.

Malfoy was staring at her with wide, surprised eyes and was looking taken-aback.

_Finally. He had to hear it. Stupid git._

"I … I understand that," he said calmly, slowly, "But … why are you touching my face?"

Hermione's brows furrowed, and she snorted, "What? What are you talking about?"

She followed his gaze and she gasped loudly at the sight before her.

Right there, on Malfoy's perfect, flawless pale skin, on his left cheek, was her right hand. And it was stroking it slowly, affectionately.

Her brain was screaming at her and she immediately withdrew her hand as if burned.

"I, I'm sorry, I don't know how that happened," she laughed nervously, as her right hand rebelled against her and started stroking the front of Malfoy's black leather jacket.

She withdrew her hand again.

"Look, Malfoy, I just came here to say a few things to you," she said, looking resolutely into his puzzled but amused eyes, feeling herself redden. "And before I end up hating you even more than ever, I'll just go right ahead and say it."

_Or before I end up groping you all over._

Hermione made a mental reminder to reprimand her right hand later – _what the fuck was it thinking?!_

"Go on," he nodded, still having that amused twinkle in his grey eyes.

"Okay. Malfoy, I just wanted to thank you properly for what you did for Harry, Ron and me during the war. That time when we were caught and brought to the Manor. You didn't give us away and instead bought us time. That helped a lot. In fact, that helped win the war."

Malfoy looked surprised all of a sudden.

_Huh. He really wasn't expecting this._

"And … I just wanted to say that … you were one of the bravest people I know."

Malfoy groaned and shut his eyes.

_What the – he looks like he's enjoying this far too much._

"I'm glad you're successful and happy now … because you're a good man."

He was groaning now, eyes screwed shut, his brows knitted together – and looked almost absolutely naughty if Hermione dwelled on it long enough …

"Granger, please …" he whispered.

_What? Is he – the git! Is he getting turned on by this? What an odd fellow, getting off by hearing people say nice things about him!_

"Please what, Malfoy?" Hermione asked in confusion.

Malfoy groaned again.

"Please, get your hand off my …"

Hermione waited.

"Get my hand off your what?"  
"Please get your hand off my crotch."

Hermione froze.  
And her eyes immediately traced her right hand to his –

_OH MY FUCKING GOD!_

Said right hand was currently resting on his crotch – squeezing minutely and was about a tick away from rubbing it – and Hermione made an odd sound, it sounded like mortification and embarrassment and terror and horror – before she ripped her hand off, clutching it to her chest with her left hand.

"_OH MY FUCKING GOD!" _ she echoed her previous thoughts, shouting it into the open air, attracting a couple of people's attentions.

Malfoy's eyes opened and pinned her with great intensity, but Hermione didn't stay long to hear what he was about to say.

She vamoosed towards the exit, whilst shouting at the top of her lungs:  
"I'M SO SORRY, MALFOY!"

**To be continued!  
Read and review hehehe!**


	2. Chapter 2

Words could not illustrate how _ashamed_ Hermione was after "The Incident". After a whole week of contemplating chopping off her right hand, she would groan and very nearly sobbed at the recollection and that nugget of memory that refused to be gone, replaying in her mind ad nauseum; like a broken record … only it kept replaying Malfoy's stunned expression and jumped to the part where he was _groaning_ with his eyes shut, perfect pink lips saying – no, begging – _please, Granger, please …_

"Oh, stop it!" she yelled at her ceiling, and her right hand took this as a chance to quickly push the knife that was dangerously close to Hermione's left hand off the table. Snapping out of her momentary lapse of concentration from making herself a sandwich, she shot her right hand a dirty look. "I wasn't even thinking of _really _doing it, you stupid, _stupid -_"

"Hermione?" a voice called out from the hallway.  
"Oh, Harry?" she turned towards her kitchen door, where footsteps were getting louder and louder and finally revealing one Harry Potter with the tornado hair, green eyes and goofy grin.

He blessed Hermione with the friendliest of smiles but no sooner than he realized that Hermione was alone, it disappeared.

"Weren't you talking to somebody?" Harry asked, a frown marring his boyish features.

"Um, no?" She looked around and shrugged, "Was talking to myself."  
"Ah, right. I read somewhere that smart people tend to have conversations with themselves," he grinned triumphantly and walked over to give Hermione a kiss on the cheek before collapsing heavily onto the chair opposite her.

"Why, Harry Potter, I'm almost impressed," she laughed. "Tea? You look exhausted."  
"Yes, please," he nodded, rubbing his face with his hands tiredly as Hermione got up to boil some water. "You're still coming over tomorrow for lunch, aren't you?"

"I should think so, why?" she turned and leaned against the kitchen counter. "You know I never miss Sunday lunches at The Burrow – except for that one time I saw Ron and Lavender sucking face in front of me; that made me miss the week after because I was still feeling sick."  
Harry chuckled, "I know, but I was just making sure that you'd – hey, before I forget, why did you storm off last Friday?"

_Because I was touching Draco Malfoy in places I shouldn't be touching – and I wasn't even inebriated. _

_Huh. Imagine what would have happened if I had been inebriated._

"You did send me a note explaining why you left after, but I think that was nowhere near the truth," Harry regarded Hermione suspiciously.  
"Why do you say so?" Hermione said, busying herself with Harry's tea.  
"Because it looked like you were totally unsure of what to say, like you stressed on random words and applied too much pressure – not to mention the sporadic marks all over the parchment."

"Don't go all Auror on me, Harry Potter," Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and passed him his tea.  
"I can't help it," he threw his hands up and shrugged, "Force of habit. I do that almost every time we receive a note from a suspect."  
"Well, there's nothing to analyse, I was just feeling under the weather like I said," she said casually.

Actually, she had been fighting with her right hand over what to write as an excuse to send to Harry, but it kept protesting and writing things that Hermione didn't want written, like 'I touched Malfoy and I liked it and if anything he might have liked it too', and she wrestled with it before getting the right thing written down, hence the random marks all over the parchment.

"You're lying," Harry watched her with amused eyes over his cup of tea.

"What?"  
"You scratch your nose when you lie," Harry pointed out.

Hermione groaned inwardly before a mass of red entered her kitchen.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed a little too happily at his perfect timing, never having been happier at seeing him for a long, long time. Ron wasn't that useless now, after all.

"What's this? Meeting secretly without me?" Ron said good-naturedly, before stealing a mug from one of the cabinets and helping himself to some tea.

"No, you know you're the only one for me, Ron," Harry replied.  
"Oh, 'Mione, you're still coming over tomorrow, right?" Ron's big blue eyes turned to catch hers.

"Yes, why are you two asking me that? I've only missed it once, and that was a long time ago!"

**x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x**

"So this is why you asked me if I was coming," Hermione hissed at Harry as soon as she caught sight of a shock of white-blond hair from inside The Burrow. Harry, who had opened the door for her, shot her a puzzled look.

"What?" he asked.  
"Draco Malfoy is here?" she snarled, trying to stop her mind from replaying Malfoy's attractive facial expressions from that night.

"Yes?" Harry answered, feeling unsure of himself all of a sudden.  
"Oh," she growled before stepping in.

"Why, is that a problem?" Harry whispered, as they both walked slowly towards the dining area.  
"No, not at all," she attempted a grin, but it looked more like a grimace. "We're all mature adults here."  
"Yeah, I was wondering why it would bother you since you were the one who went up and spoke to him last week."  
"Y-yeah. He's really … nice," she gulped and hoped that the red in her face wasn't trying to contend with a telephone booth as Malfoy turned from inspecting Arthur Weasley's wine collection to catch Hermione's eyes, a glass of brandy in his hand.

"Malfoy," Hermione nodded, looking anywhere but him and most certainly not his crotch area where she had emitted quite a lovely expression from him – _hmm, grey trousers today, huh. _He was sporting a black long-sleeved button-down shirt, grey trousers and black shoes.

"I spoke to him last week, when we were at Twentyone," Harry explained, "Thought he might like to join us today."  
"Oh? When did you ask?" Hermione turned to Harry, trying her best not to stare at Malfoy who was looking entirely too edible.  
"Right after you disappeared actually, was in the middle of walking towards you two before you stormed off."  
"Yes, you left so soon," came the drawl from Malfoy.

The corner of Hermione's lips twitched.

"Well, I wasn't feeling quite right," her face burned as she answered Malfoy, who was scrutinizing her with such intensity that she felt like she had no clothes on. "Excuse my behaviour that night."

Hermione hoped that he caught the insinuation behind her apology, and figured that he must have, since he raised a fine eyebrow and shrugged.

"Harry!" Mrs Weasley's voice came from the kitchen. Harry muttered an 'excuse me' before jogging towards the kitchen, leaving Malfoy and a panicky Hermione alone.

_Keep cool, keep cool. Breathe. It's just Malfoy._

"So," Malfoy said.  
"So."

_Except you fondled him all over. _

"I believe I need an explanation as to why you showed up out of nowhere, violated me and left," he said nonchalantly as if commenting on the weather, and took a sip of his brandy, "Do you do that to all the men you haven't met in almost ten years, Granger?"  
"No," she bellowed. "Just you."

Malfoy paused mid-sip and looked at her as if she grew another head.

"I mean! I haven't seen you in ten years! I don't know anyone else I haven't seen in ten years," she gibbered, ears and cheeks flaming but she looked resolutely at Malfoy's face, not willing to show him how embarrassed she was.

"I see," he smirked like a cat.

"Everybody, lunch!" Mrs Weasley called from the dining area and Hermione practically dashed off, meekly smiling at Malfoy with a pathetic echo of Mrs Weasley's enthusiastic announcement, and claimed a seat, as far away as possible from where their usual new guest would sit at.

And of course, the fates fucking hated her because Malfoy sat gracefully next to her. On her right side.

"Why are you sitting here?" Hermione asked him sweetly, the corners of her lips twitching again. Her right hand twitched, too.

"Everywhere else is full," he answered, and turned to her, his mercurial gaze making her face hot, "Why, can't stand to be seated next to an ex-Death Eater, Granger?"

The scent of his cologne wafted around him and Hermione almost bit her lip at how delicious that smell was.

"Of course not."

_I've touched you in the most inappropriate of places, ex-Death Eater. Sitting next to you shouldn't be a problem, unless my right hand decides to prove me wrong and make it a bigger problem._

As if woken up from a slumber, her right hand tensed.

And then Malfoy moved, and her right hand went down to grip his thigh.

Malfoy's turned towards her and watched her with a slight a frown.  
"Relax, Granger, I'm only passing the salad," he answered slowly, "No need to get frightened."

"I …" She passed the salad to Ginny who was seated next to her and sat on her right hand, trying to make it _behave, please, for the love of God! _"Sorry, you just surprised me is all."

Lunch was mostly a loud affair, people asking Malfoy questions, him answering politely, with her right hand behaving … of course it would, it was trapped under her bum.

As soon as Hermione realized that trying to cut chicken with one hand was becoming quite the feat, she released her right hand and got it to cooperate.

If only for a while.

Somewhere during dessert and while talking to Ginny, her right hand wandered off and rested on top of Malfoy's left thigh.

She hadn't realized until it started rubbing it slowly – up and down – and she stopped mid-conversation to turn slowly towards Malfoy, who was already looking at her with wide eyes, mouth hanging open, his hand that was gripping a spoonful of pudding pausing right before his lips.

" – she, Malfoy?" someone at the table asked, and Malfoy tore his gaze away from Hermione to find the source of the voice.  
"I beg your pardon?" he asked Arthur.

"I was asking about your mother, how is she?" he repeated.  
"Oh, she's brilliant, thank you," Malfoy answered and put down his spoon, telling Arthur about his mother's new project with the Manor.

The offending right hand didn't move, it started rubbing Malfoy's thigh again as he spoke – and Hermione thought that it was more seductive than comforting, and she tried her best to tear it away from Malfoy's thigh but every time she succeeded in doing so, it returned; as if Malfoy's thigh was its rightful home. And it liked its home very, _very much_.

It was about the fourth time it returned to Malfoy's thigh and doing its rubbing thing again while Malfoy was conversing that his left hand came up to grip her right hand, squeezing tight as if to stop her ministrations. He gripped it enough to hurt.

"Ouch, Malfoy!" Hermione hissed.  
"Stop molesting me, Granger," he turned to her and hissed, before turning back to Molly and flashing her a charming smile and answering her question.

"I … can't," she said as she tried to break free from both Malfoy's hand and thigh.

It was quite warm, where her hand was. Hmm.

"Granger," Malfoy said warningly, turning to look at her once more, "Don't you think this is highly inappropriate?"  
"I can't stop it, Malfoy!" she snarled quietly, not wanting to attention the attention of the others.  
"What do you mean you can't, it's your bloody hand! Get it off my thigh before someone thinks -"

"_OH MY GOD!_" somebody shrieked and both Hermione and Malfoy froze, both looking at each other in slight panic, both with widened eyes.

"I'm sorry, Gin!" Ron's voice called out and Hermione immediately tore her hand away and Malfoy simultaneously released her, wondering what the commotion was.

Ginny was standing next to her, her ivory dress drenched in pumpkin juice. Apparently Ron had knocked over a glass in his excitement.

"I'll go get a napkin!" Hermione exclaimed almost immediately and scampered off her chair almost violently towards the kitchen.

_Of course_ she didn't need a napkin – she was a fucking witch! They don't need napkins to handle a spill! Fuck, fuck, fuck. How stupid was that?

Now everyone in there would think she'd gone bonkers – a napkin! A napkin, really? What was a fucking wand for?

"For fuck's sake," she sighed heavily and rubbed her forehead.

Now what, now what, now what?

"You have wandering hands, Granger," a voice came from behind her. She stiffened and groaned.

_Actually, just one_.

"Please, can we just not talk about it?" Hermione pleaded; as she walked over towards the sink, pretending to look for … look for … look for _something_. Maybe a knife to finally chop off her traitorous right hand, god damn it!

"No, I can't not talk about it," Malfoy said, following her while examining his nails. "This is the second time you've molested me, only I'm surprised the second time was actually much tamer than the first time. So what's the deal, Granger? Are you interested in me?"

He watched her, eyes filled with mirth as he crossed his arms and waited for an answer.

Hermione watched him back for a few seconds before clearing her throat.

"I need to go back, everyone's waiting," she said.  
"Don't bother, everyone's finished," he supplied.  
"Well, they need help with the clearing."  
"Potter's already doing it," he drawled, leaning against the kitchen counter opposite her.

"Well, I need to get away from you," she said immediately and made to leave, before Malfoy grabbed her elbow and turned her slightly.

"If you're so interested in me, why don't you just ask me out?" he smirked, eyes wide with amusement.

Hermione groaned inwardly because fuck, he was gorgeous. And clearly, it was not wise to let him know that piece of information; otherwise he would think she really was interested.

"Why should I ask you out? I'm not interested in you?" Hermione hated the fact that her last sentence came out as more of a question than a determined answer.

And also hated the fact that as soon as she said that, her right hand immediately latched itself to the back of his neck within seconds and pulled him towards her face.

It all happened in a blur really, before she knew it her nose was pressed against Malfoy's warm cheek and her lips met with soft, warmer lips.

It was all very, _very _strange.

Hermione's brain shut down and her eyes were fluttering shut –

"_NO!_" she shrieked, pushing Malfoy off with his left hand and then –

_SLAP!_

She had slapped Malfoy with her left hand.

He looked at her, astonished – at which occurrence, she wasn't quite sure, maybe both.

"I'm so –" she began, lips still tingling from that slight contact with Malfoy's lips.

But her right hand grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him close again, so hard that their foreheads almost collided, but their lips successfully connected.

This time, it was warmer – much, much warmer, and even stranger because Malfoy started kissing her back, his arms beginning to wrap themselves around her.

The kiss somehow so powerful that her toes curled in her shoes and her right hand was gripping the back of his shirt so tightly as her brain practically fried in her head, fireworks exploded (or maybe Ron was fiddling around with some joke items?), and her knees were wobbly.

Hermione hummed in appreciation, and that sound immediately startled her as her eyes flew open to find blond lashes sweeping across pale, pale cheeks.

And then her eyes widened.

She struggled and pushed Malfoy away, and –

_SLAP!_

She had slapped Malfoy again.  
_Oh shit, I'm going to die now, I know it._

"What the _fuck, _Granger?" Malfoy growled – and _somehow_, that made Hermione's toes curl again – and Hermione could see an angry shade of red blooming on Malfoy's right cheek.

"I am _so sorry_, Malfoy!" she squeaked.  
"Granger, what is wrong with you?" his eyes narrowed and his hands came up to grip her shoulders and he shook her.

"'Mione, could you please -" they both turned to see Harry Potter frozen at the doorway, "What are you two doing?"

Malfoy immediately dropped his hands – albeit a little too late – and both he and Hermione stared at Harry.

Hermione's brain was whirring, "We were, umm -"

_Not kissing. Not at all._

"Malfoy had something in his eye and I just, we were just …" Hermione finished lamely.  
"Oh, eyelash," Harry bought it, "Did you get it out?"  
"Yeah, yeah, all gone," she pretended to blow her index finger, where the imaginary eyelash was.

"That's great; could you please give me a hand?" Harry pointed towards the dining area.  
"Oh, sure," she replied.

Harry left the kitchen and Hermione trailed after him, face burning.

"Granger …" Malfoy called out.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy, I'll just … Just stay away from me, alright?" her hands were set in fists and she looked at Malfoy apologetically.

She didn't wait for an answer as she left the kitchen to help Harry.

**TBC!**

**Read and review, heehee!**

**This story's only got four chapters so the last two will be up by the end of this week, yay!**


	3. Chapter 3

In actual fact, Malfoy didn't need to be told to stay away from Hermione; she hardly saw him after all, what with being a professional Quidditch player and keeping up with his busy training schedules and … keeping fit. If it weren't for the fact that Hermione happened to be at Twentyone the same day he decided to celebrate with his teammates there, she would never had seen him at all despite living in the same Wizarding community.

It was all good for Hermione as she took the time to drown out the need to crawl up into a hole and die out of embarrassment.

Although, somewhere at the back of her mind she knew that this wouldn't last at all. The universe enjoyed making her a laughing stock, or so it may seem.

So there she was, at the wine shop, picking out a new bottle of wine for herself – to maybe cuddle with it tonight while watching some chick flick like _Bridget Jones' Diary_.

She recalled the kiss between Bridget Jones and Mark Darcy and was about to remind herself that she hadn't been kissed in well, _ages _but that wasn't true at all. Just last week she had the most spectacular kiss with Draco Malfoy. Although a little more dramatic and angsty than how most normal kisses should be with a dash of complicated thrown into the mix, it was still very, very remarkable.

What struck her the most was that it was with Draco Malfoy, of all people. It was strange, but not as strange as her right-hand trying to play matchmaker for them for some reason.

Crossing her arms while deciding between two types of wines, her right hand began to trace her own lips as she thought recalled the kiss.

Forever burnt into her memory, along with Malfoy's bewildered I-think-you're-psychotic-Granger expression after and a red handprint across his right cheek. Hermione groaned like a dying bear.

She bought both the wines.

Walking down Diagon Alley with her grocery bag swinging lightly in her left hand, she stopped in her tracks.

"Damn, did I get the tuna?" she muttered to herself as she rummaged through her grocery bag.

Taking out one of the wine bottles to have a better look inside, her right hand which was currently holding the wine bottle started pointing at something in front of her with her index finger. Hermione thought it was one of those things that happened with fingers, like how some people have their pinkies out all the time, but no matter how many times she tried to retract it to grip the wine bottle properly, it wouldn't budge.

That was when she caught on that her hand was actually pointing at something.

She looked up.

And her heart skipped almost painfully and she almost doubled over at the force.

It was Draco Malfoy, in the flesh.  
Well, to paint a more accurate picture, it was his back. He was walking ahead of Hermione and was alone, swaggering like he owned the entire universe.

Had it been any other bloke, Hermione (or her right hand) could have easily mistaken him for somebody else but who else had that shade of blond? And since when had her right hand been wrong?

For a split second, she actually considered calling out to him but then Hermione found that she couldn't handle the sheer deluge of the many facial expressions of Draco Malfoy at every embarrassing thing she had ever done and the plethora of _whatthefuck_s that came after every recollection.

Her right hand of course, trusty as it was, had other plans.

Raising the wine bottle that it was currently clutching as high and as rearward as her arm could handle, it catapulted the wine bottle into the air.

Hermione's jaw dropped to the floor and her eyes widened in horror as she watched the scene unfold before her.

The wine bottle missed a couple of heads only by mere inches and finally landed right behind Draco Malfoy's figure, causing a splattering mess of maroon liquid around his obviously expensive shoes.

In a flash, Malfoy froze and ominous realization set in. It made Hermione want to take the other wine bottle out and drink its entire content within the few seconds Malfoy would take to get to her. Either that or have her right hand hit herself on the head with it.

Malfoy looked back and caught her immediately, eyes narrowing slowly before turning.

_Why, oh god, why must this happen to me._

Equipped with Malfoy grace, he stepped over the mess elegantly, quickly muttering a cleaning charm over his shoes and walked over to Hermione in sharp, quick strides. Hermione steeled herself.

In retrospect, Hermione had lived a good life. _Goodbye, world. This is it. _It hadn't been ideal, not by a longshot but it had been nice all the same. Unfortunately, it was all about to end at her rather ignoble death in three … two … one …

Malfoy was grinning like a shark at a beach party.

Hermione smiled ruefully – because despite how dishy-looking Malfoy was at that moment in his usual all-black ensemble, she needed to prepare to be AK'ed. After all, she had just been caught in flagrante delicto.

There were not many suspects at the time anyway. Who else would think to throw a bottle of red wine at Draco Malfoy? Why, of course it had to be Hermione Granger who was standing still – the same girl that started molesting him and kissing him and slapping him simultaneously. Of course it had to be her.

But Malfoy asked anyway.

"Well, hello, Granger. How do you do? I'm fine, thank you very much for asking," he said glibly, "Did you happen to throw a wine bottle at me?"  
"No," she blurted.

After a stern stare, she folded.

"Yes."

"Why?" he asked, rubbing his chin, a thoughtful expression his face, "Why, Granger, why?"

She tried to think of an answer – a reasonable answer – she could just imagine how apoplectic Malfoy would be if she were to say 'I really don't know, Malfoy, I really don't'.

However, after weighing her options, she found that that answer was better than 'I didn't, my right hand did – it has a propensity for shaking things up a little bit'.

"I really have no idea," she said briskly.  
"I knew you were cracked, especially these days, but why on earth would you – couldn't a 'hello' be more than sufficient to attract my attention?" his grey eyes were judging her, she knew they were.

"I wasn't trying to attract your attention," she retorted.  
"Yes, you just realized that you bought the wrong wine and decided to toss it into the air, putting quite a number of lives in danger and consequently dirty my best shoes."

Hermione glanced down at his shoes, and almost hummed in approval. They did look fantastic.

"What is it that you want from me?" he asks almost exasperatedly, crossing his arms, grey eyes flashing, "First you molest me, and then you molest me some more, and then kiss me, twice -"

She winced at that.

" – and _slapped_ me – twice! Afterwards, you proceeded to tell me to stay away from you, and now you're busy throwing wine bottles at me! What, Granger, _what?! _Do you need help?!"

Somewhere in between Malfoy's ranting, Hermione lost focus.  
She stared and stared and stared, watching in fascination as Malfoy's cheeks coloured a little, his fine eyebrows knitted and his lovely mouth curling and forming words. Yes, he was gorgeous, even when he was mad.

" – because if you do, let me just send you to a psychiatric hospital, but please stop -"

_"There he is! The Malfoy heir – get him!"_

Hermione's ears perked up at that and her spine straightened as she looked around in blind panic.

_"Kill him, kill him!"_

Hermione suddenly caught sight of two men, dressed in black and they both had masks on – their wands were out but nobody paid attention – it was Diagon Alley after all and the War ended such a long, long time ago –

_"Get him!"_

Malfoy, who was still ranting, face turning red and totally unaware of what was going on and before Hermione knew it, her right hand whipped out her wand –

"_Expelliarmus!" _she cried out, immediately disarming one of them before shouting a body-binding spell. Malfoy immediately procured his own wand within two seconds and was deflecting the other one's curses, before throwing up a Shielding charm and grabbing Hermione by the elbow, running into an alley for cover.

The atmosphere was hectic – everybody was screaming and running and panicky and it was all very messy and –

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" Malfoy yelled at the other man, and he dropped onto the floor, immobile.

Malfoy straightened up before looking around for more potential suspects, but as soon as found that there were none, he walked out of the alley, and went to inspect both of the masked men. Pulling off their masks, Malfoy laughed a little.

"What?" Hermione asked, heart beating fast.  
"These are the Death Eaters' sons," he said matter-of-factly.  
"Revenge?"  
"Probably. I surmise they don't think I deserve what I have right now," he sighed.

"No! That's not true," Hermione said a little to passionately, grabbing Malfoy's shoulder and shaking him a little, peering up into his surprised grey eyes, "You deserve it, all of it. You deserve this current life you're living, Malfoy. You're a good man."

Malfoy blinked once, twice before licking his lips. Of course, Hermione followed that little movement with her eyes.

"I, umm, thank you, Granger," he muttered and cleared his throat.

An abashed red flooded her face before she swallowed, turning towards the culprits, "Let me just alert Ron and Harry."

She sent a Patronus to them and turned back to Malfoy.

"Does this happen often?" she asked.  
"Not as often as I like," his lip curled sarcastically.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

She was about to reprimand him for being too casual about his life (despite throwing a wine bottle at him minutes ago), before she noticed a jet of light careering towards Malfoy's back.

Without thinking, she pushed Malfoy to the left and yelled out a _Protego _with her wand.

And then all was black.

**x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x. x**

Someone was groaning like a donkey giving birth.

"Oh, she's awake," came a familiar voice.

The groaning came again.

"'Mione, are you okay? Do you need some water?" another familiar voice asked.

And then Hermione realized that _she _was the donkey giving birth. She opened her eyes, blinking blearily as everything slowly came into focus. Ron and Harry were looking at her with matching concerned faces. It made quite an amusing picture.

"Yes, please," she rasped.

She tried to get up and felt like her bones were all over the place. She slowly slid herself upwards until her back was resting against the headboard.  
"Well, shit, I feel fantastic," she grated, "What the hell happened?"

"You were hit by a spell," Harry informed her as he passed her a glass of water. Hermione murmured her thanks and drank greedily, noting that everything was white – white sheets, white walls, white ceilings … she was in St. Mungo's.

"Yeah, you're all over the papers," Ron grinned, as her shoved _The Daily Prophet _under her nose.

**_GOLDEN GIRL SAVES EX-DEATH EATER_**

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Where's Malfoy?" she asked, suddenly worried.  
"He's outside, been here all night," Ron answered.

"All night?" Hermione gaped. "What was I hit by, a truck?"  
"A dark spell, actually. It was a variation of the Sectumsempra," Harry informed her, "It gave you cuts all over and you were slowly bleeding out but thankfully Malfoy got you here fast enough. You might be feeling tender all over. The cuts are gone but I think the pain will be there for another day or two."  
"Oh … did you catch the guy who did it?"  
"No, but we're on it."

"I see," she nodded, "Is he … is Malfoy … is he alright?"  
"Well, paler than usual, but I reckon he's doing just fine," Harry grinned.  
"That's good," she nodded again, relieved.

"Is there something going on between you and Malfoy?" Ron asked, stuffing a sandwich into his mouth.

Hermione choked on her own spit.

"N-no! Why do you say that?"

"Ngh, just asking," Ron shrugged, "It's okay, you know … if you _do _have something going on."  
"Ron!" Hermione cried out.

"I mean, he's a nice bloke – he's changed, and judging from how pale he looked – I mean, Malfoy is really pale but he was positively ghostly when we came over as soon as we got his message," Ron said, spraying bits and pieces of meat all over the place, "I think he likes you."

Hermione's heart swelled at that and her head almost exploded at the sheer impossibility of it all.

"No, I don't think so … he thinks I'm crazy."  
"Yeah he did say something like that, something about you being a 'crazy bitch'."

Hermione shook her head and smiled fondly, "Twat."

"Ah, I see," Ron smirked at her.  
"What?" Hermione looked at him.

"Nothin'," he grinned and grabbed Harry's shoulder, "I think we should you know … let Hermione rest for a bit. And maybe call Malfoy."

Hermione blushed at that.

"Yeah, he did say something about letting him know when you wake up," Harry nodded. They both kissed her on her cheek and promised to come by before she gets discharged.

They left the room and Hermione fought the urge to bury herself under her covers. In just a matter of few seconds, Malfoy would come in and … and then what?

The door swung open slowly and Hermione could hear her own heartbeat.

Grey eyes sought hers before Malfoy pushed himself bodily into the room, shutting the door behind him.

He had dark circles under his eyes, and it looked like his cheekbones were more prominent than ever – he looked positively ghostly, as Ron had put it. He changed his shirt though.

"Well, don't you look lovely," Hermione chuckled.  
"Better than you, at least," he shot back, shooting her a glare and when he came closer to her bed, she noticed that he had a vial with him.

"What's that?"  
"Oh, I'm told to give this to you. You need to drink it right now."

"Oh," she said as she took the proffered vial. She uncapped it and her right hand immediately covered the opening.

Rolling her eyes, she knew this was going to taste foul. Grabbing the vial with her left and within two seconds, she downed it all, not giving her right hand time to protest.

And she was right, it tasted like dead animals. Her right hand had to cover her mouth tightly as she forced herself to swallow everything, her eyes watering.

"That bad, huh?" Malfoy asked, watching her.  
"Mmhmm," she answered, eyes blurry with tears.

As soon as she swallowed everything, she grabbed the glass of water and drank like there was no tomorrow.

"Granger," Malfoy called, still standing next to her bed.  
"Mm?"

"Thank you for saving my life," he said straightforwardly.

"Oh … you're welcome," she blushed and stared at her hands.  
"I still think you're loopy but … thank you."

She looked up at him and grinned, and he returned her grin with one of the most charming smiles she had ever beheld. Her right hand twitched then.

"Let me take you out for dinner," he said promptly. "It's the least I could do."  
"Like a date?" Hermione blurted.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at that.

"Well – sure. Why the hell not?" he shrugged gracefully.  
"No, I'm joking, Malfoy, that won't be necessary," she yawned, suddenly sleepy.

"You say you don't want it, but you're -" he nodded at her waist and pointed at her right hand – which was currently giving him the thumbs up.

Hermione glared at it.

"I'll take that as a yes, then," Malfoy said.  
"I … yeah, sure," she bit her lip and found herself sinking into her pillows again, "'M drowsy."  
"Sleep, then. I'll see you later."

"Go home, Malfoy … get some rest," Hermione mumbled as her eyes shut.  
"Yeah, I was thinking maybe I should freshen -"

Hermione felt her right hand shoot out from the covers and grab his hand, pulling him forcefully closer towards her bed.

And there she was, drifting into slumber, clutching Malfoy's hand and too tired to fight it.

Subconsciously, she felt Malfoy squeeze back before she totally blacked out.

**TBC!  
As promised, this story is now done and I've uploaded the rest of the chapters as well!**


	4. Chapter 4

Malfoy was probably the epitome of class.

It was quite apparent at his choice in restaurants, because they were currently seated at a really dainty, romantic setting – white tablecloths, candlelight, dimmed lights and soft music.

Hermione squirmed in her seat at a quiet booth as she took in her surroundings.

"Uncomfortable?" Malfoy smirked at her.  
"No, just not really used to this," Hermione shrugged.

Malfoy's classy ways were also very apparent in his choice of outfit that night too, and he was more delectable than anything she had ever seen on a menu, to be honest.

They both made quite the picture, actually. To other people, they did look like complete opposites, but they had a lot of things in common – mainly intelligence and interests and the like but nothing like that ever made it to conversation.

If anything, there was hardly any conversation at all.

The sexual tension was too high.  
Hermione hadn't even noticed it before, but today it was blaring like it was on _Sonorus _and multiplied in its amount the more they shared air in front of them.

It was as if everything that had happened between them for the past few weeks all amounted to this moment. And Hermione was struggling to handle it.

She had to sit on her right hand, for crying out loud!

One moment they were exchanging niceties – _oh, but you do look wonderful today, Malfoy … oh why thank you, you look breath-taking, Granger – _and it was all friendly smiles and ordering food and then as soon as Malfoy took out his coat and draped it over his chair and as soon as Hermione stopped being tense, the casual, fleeting glances turned into smouldering, sexually-charged and heated stares.

_How in the hell did that happen?_

_The tension, the tension, the tension, _Hermione repeated in her head.

"So how's work?" Malfoy asked her, lifting up his wine glass.  
"Oh, very good … same old same old but I can't complain, I love my job," she grinned and looked up at him.

"Hmm," Malfoy hummed in reply, watching her from the top of his wine glass as he took a slow sip, causing Hermione's smile to falter a little but she cleared her throat and fiddled with the bottom of her wine glass.

"How's yours?" Hermione asked.  
"Fan-_tas_-tic," Malfoy drew out the words very slowly and Hermione had to sit more heavily on her right hand.

_Well, shit._

Dinner was a quiet affair, both of them enjoying their food in silence and occasionally catching each other's eyes before Hermione looked down in embarrassment.

Dessert, _however_, was a different story.

After Malfoy had asked the maître d' to kindly serve their dessert, everything was brought into an entirely new level.

"Come here, Granger," Malfoy said to her.  
"Hmm? What?"

Malfoy snaked his left arm around her waist and _pulled, _so that she was directly next to him and her legs were sort of … draped over his.

Hermione shot him a confused look, "What are you doing, Malfoy?"

Malfoy shot her a cunning grin and reply and took out his wand. Bringing both her hands together, he muttered an imperceptible spell and a pale-yellow string wrapped itself around Hermione's hands before completely disappearing into her skin.

And Hermione couldn't move her hands – they were bound.

She shot him another confused look.

"What on earth?"  
"There's our dessert," Malfoy said airily, watching as the maître d' set their strawberry marshmallow cheesecake in front of them.

Hermione eyed the dessert hungrily, but was still wary about what Malfoy was about to do. Being this close, however, did nothing about the tension that was literally oozing from both parties.

"Let me feed you," Malfoy suggested as he picked up the dessert fork and sunk it into the cake, breaking apart a small piece and bringing it to Hermione's mouth. "Say 'ah'."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the patronizing way Malfoy was addressing her, but she opened her mouth and moved forward to catch the fork anyway, and before she could even reach the tip of the fork, Malfoy pulled it away and replaced it with his own mouth.

He kissed her deeply, thoroughly and it made her toes curl (again), as he brought his left hand to rest at the back of her head, pulling her towards him. After positively taking her one and only breath away, Malfoy pulled away with a smack.

"Here," he said as he brought the fork to her again. This time, however, he let her taste it.

It was delicious, it was divine, really but Hermione couldn't bring herself to comment on it while her face was parboiling as she tasted the dessert. Malfoy took a bite of his own and Hermione could not help but watch him fascinatedly.

At one point though, when Malfoy was feeding her the dessert, he dropped a chaste kiss on her neck and was moving towards her shoulder, all the while parking the fork in front of Hermione's mouth for her to claim. Hermione tried to concentrate on the dessert but with Malfoy doing all those things made it hard for her to even think about eating the dessert waiting for her right in front of her mouth.

"Malfoy," she said almost-warningly.

She swore she could feel Malfoy smile against the skin on her shoulder.

"I'm just showing you, so you know how it feels," he whispered into her ear, "To have someone distract you while you're trying to have a decent meal."

Hermione's eyes narrowed.  
"So this is revenge then," she sighed heavily.  
"Not necessarily, no," Malfoy pulled back and looked at her in the eyes, stroking her jaw with his thumb, "I'm also getting what I want."

Hermione's eyes widened a little, "Meaning?"  
"Meaning … it's been ages since I've seen you, but it's been far longer that I've wanted you," he said, searching her eyes, his grey ones shining in sincerity. Draco Malfoy was now vulnerable, open, laid out. "Meaning … I was practically over the bloody moon when I saw you again, especially when you took the initiative to speak to me first. I was thrilled, albeit confused about your … _methods_, but can't say I was complaining."

Hermione grinned a little at that and Malfoy grinned back as he put down the dessert fork.

It became very clear to Hermione all of a sudden. No wonder her thoughts of Malfoy had never faded from her mind, never decayed, never forgotten. He always there at the back of her mind, almost daily, and never drooped in its intensity.

And maybe, somehow, her right hand registered that. Hermione has wanted Draco Malfoy, and has wanted him for ages so it struck while the iron was hot – during the first meeting after almost ten years. Hermione saw now …

"Scared me half to death when you were out cold after you were hit by that spell, cuts and blood everywhere -"

"And let me guess," Hermione rolled her eyes, "Drenched your expensive shirt in my blood?"  
"Of course," Malfoy scoffed.  
"Mmm, right."

"Was wondering why something just had to happen when something good came by," he continued, pulling gently on one of her stray curls, "I mean good things have happened to me – Quidditch, career, Mother and all that … they were all good – but you, Granger, you were _better _than good."

Hermione swallowed and gave him a watery smile, "Why, Malfoy, I believe that is the sweetest thing someone has ever said to me."

"I know," he said, earning him another eye roll from Hermione, "But I just didn't want that taken away. Not after …"  
"Not after we met again after a long time?" Hermione finished for him.

He nodded and sighed.

"Anyway," he said, picking up the fork again, and loading it with more dessert, "Let's finish this."

Hermione clenched her jaw. Shaking her head and then in a voice she never knew she had, she said, "Don't want dessert now."

Malfoy paused in his actions, and turned his head to watch her for a little. Hermione watched him back resolutely, not taking her eyes off him.

Malfoy dropped the fork gently before bringing both his hands to cup the sides of her face in a heated snog.

He tasted like strawberries, marshmallows and sugar and something very Malfoy that made Hermione grin into the kiss, wishing to remember this taste forever and ever.

It was when Malfoy's fingers started tracing idle patterns on her bare knees and were slowly inching upwards to the hem of her skirt that Hermione began to squirm in annoyance that her hands were bound.

"Malfoy, let me go," she said, "Please?"  
"Why?" he said, mouth so close to her that his lips brushed against hers when he spoke.  
"I want to touch you," she answered.

Malfoy chuckled and shook his head, "I think you've had more than your fair share of touching. It's my turn now."

And then he kissed her again, and Hermione groaned – both in frustration and appreciation.

After what felt like hours of snogging Malfoy, he finally pulled away and brought her hands to his lips and kissed her hand.

"I'll be back," he winked and stood up, walking over to the maître d' who served them at the corner. They exchanged a few words before the maître d' produced a piece of parchment that had writings all over it. Malfoy took out his wand and tapped the parchment a couple of times, emitting a faint blue glow.

The maître d' nodded his thanks.

Huh. Either this restaurant had a different system or Malfoy just didn't want Hermione to know how much this place cost. Oh well.

Hermione waited patiently at the booth, hands still bound. She watched as Malfoy nodded at the maître d before sauntering off towards the loo.

Her eyes were flitting over the entrance of the restaurant, where a man stood from his table – a familiar menacing look on his face as he watched Malfoy disappear into the men's. He stalked him, right hand buried deep in his pocket.

Hermione's stomach dropped as fear took over her.

Harry did say that they couldn't catch the person –

She immediately turned towards her purse, her open purse and inched towards it as fast as her bound hands could allow and watched with horror as her weight caused the purse to tilt dangerously to the edge –

Her wand rolled off the seat and clattered onto the floor underneath the seat.

And Hermione wasn't able to reach it with her bound hands –

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!_

Brain whirring, she immediately stood up and ran off to the men's, commanding the maître d' and the manager to _immediately _call the Aurors.

Terror was closing its threatening tentacles over her as she got closer to the men's.

"Who are you?" she heard Malfoy's voice coming from the inside.  
"Remember, the Carrows? My parents are in Azkaban because of you, traitor! You gave out all the information needed to round all the Death Eaters up! You just had to, didn't you?!"

Hermione slowly pushed the door open and slowly and silently as she could, hoping to at least come up with something by the time she could see what was going on.

"Well, you know, Death Eaters always think of themselves first," Malfoy said nonchalantly, "I had to save my own arse first. It's what you lot taught me."  
"Why, you -" the man growled, "You don't deserve all this. Big shot Quidditch player while the rest of us scamper and hide away."

Hermione opened the door enough to take a peek, and found that the man his back towards her, and was facing Malfoy, wand trained on him. Malfoy had his arms raised, looking at the man almost too-casually.

"That's all up to you, really," Malfoy said. "No one's asking you to hide anymore."  
"And what would you have us do? We are sons of Death Eaters," he spat, "We remain loyal to the Dark Lord even after his death. We cannot simply convert like you."

"Well, that being said, you can just kiss my arse," Malfoy shrugged.

"You little -! _Avada Ked -"_

_"NO!" _Hermione wailed and burst open into the men's and _jumped _on the man, knocking him onto the floor.

"_Locomotor Mortis! Petrificus Totalus!" _Malfoy cried out two spells in quick succession, rendering the man Hermione was currently straddling totally immobile and looking at her in shock.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy accused her.  
"What are _you _doing?!" Hermione argued, "You almost got killed, I saved you!"

"Oh, my hero," Malfoy said sarcastically, "I had a plan before you so helpfully barged in."  
"Oh, yeah, and what was that?" she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Granger, I was standing directly in front of the mirror. The second he wanted to send that spell flying towards me I would just have to duck, and it would hit the mirror, backfire and hit himself instead."

"Yeah, whatever, I was just trying to –" Hermione tried to get up properly in her heels, but due to the fact that her hands were still bound, she fell heavily onto the floor, curls all over her face, "– help you."

Malfoy shook his head and smiled as he walked towards her, lifting her to her feet and brushing her curls away from her face.

"I know, you're something like my right-hand man," he said fondly, "Only a woman."

He planted a chaste kiss on her lips and said, "Come on, I believe this date is not over."  
"Will you at least unbind me?"  
"No."

**Epilogue next! Teehee!**


	5. Chapter 5

**M!**

Draco did release her hands from their invisible bonds, but she certainly wasn't expecting what came next.

There was she was, laid out like a delicacy on Draco Malfoy's bed, only in her lingerie.

Draco was watching her predatorily, eyes glinting in the pale moonlight, as he loosened his tie and got it off his collar with a quick pull.

He straddled her, and pinned both her hands against the _conveniently_ metal railings of his headboard and proceeded to bind her wrists _again_, before tying it to the headboard.

"Draco, n-no," she protested.

He brought himself down so that he was face to face with her.

"Shh, love," he cooed and kissed her deeply, melting Hermione's protests.  
"But why are you tying me up? I mean, I think I've figured out that you're kinky like that but now, really?"

"Yes, wouldn't want your hands distracting me from my sole purpose at this very moment, would we?" Draco said as he ran his fingers up and down her legs before removing her heels and tossing them across the room.  
"But isn't that the whole point?" she whined.  
"Later," he said softly as his fingers stole towards her bra and knickers, ghosting over her skin in between, making her skin break out in gooseflesh and her breathing laboured.

"I want to assess my right-hand woman first," Draco grinned down at her before capturing her lips in a tender, tender kiss.

"Oh, god," she shut her eyes and groaned as Draco removed her bra and his fingers were currently inching inside her knickers, touching her right _there_ teasingly.

"Not god, just Draco," he informed her as he rained kisses down her chest and his fingers quested in her knickers.  
"Draco," she echoed, biting her lip as her hands struggled against the bonds.

Finally, Draco slid her knickers down and off her legs, tossing them to Merlin-knows-where as he drank in the sight of Hermione.

And because her hands were bound, she couldn't undress him – and Draco – the stupid little _tease_, gave her a little show, a striptease as he slowly undressed himself – and by the time he was done, she was kicking her legs into the air out of frustration as Draco chuckled darkly in reply.

The entire thing was intense, raw and so, so _hot _that Hermione was afraid that she couldn't take it anymore, especially since her hands were still bound.

Somewhere near the end, Draco finally decided to release her hands and they clutched desperately at Draco's back almost immediately before she detonated, making her dig her nails into Draco's back and _clawed_ as her cried out her release.

She was pretty sure that Draco's back would have eight bloody lines come morning, but they were both too exhausted to think about it as they fell asleep in each other's arms.

She was fine with being Draco's right-hand woman, and she was fine with her right hand being her ... err, right hand.

**Noun 1. Right-hand person – **the most helpful assistant, chief assistant, helper, help, supporter – a person who contributes to the fulfilment of a need or furtherance of an effort or purpose.

**THE END!**

**Well, that was fun to write and I most certainly hope you had fun reading it too. And Happy Halloween!**

**If you guys have anything you would like to see me write, do drop me a PM – it could be anything really, Hermione/Draco with some other disease or some peculiarity, or some weird occurrence or a prompt – like I said, anything really. I'd love to hear from you. And I won't forget to include your name at the very first page hehe. **

**So yes, until next time, ta ta!**


End file.
